


hush, be still

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Gen, M/M, and other things, isle of man thoughts, me or queen of overanalysing small things, phil turns 30
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 18:57:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9562265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: “No doubt about it,” Dan says; sure,definite. “Family, after all.”Snippets of the Lesters on the Isle of Man through the years; right from the beginning of something special.





	

**Author's Note:**

> oh wowie i wish this was longer but anyway, this goes out to my supportive pals from all parts of the world, and you, of course. the week has been draining so forgive me for all the mistakes (most notably, i kept typing island as 'alien' ha ha) in this.

There’s something odd about Isle of Man, Phil’s realised. 

Maybe it’s the air, though it’s probably the quiet of the streets; the lights of sunsets casting eerie shadows on the most beautiful of things. They don’t have that in London; the London that is loud and bustling and has a _take no shit_ attitude about it because you fend for yourself.

The whispers of green-hued scenery the North of England, on the little island 500 kilometres wide, affects Phil more than he lets on sometimes. Because when there are no blaring horns and drilling and neighbour’s dogs barking incessantly, there is no way to hide from the inevitable. _Hiding_ would mean tainting the sacred ground of island: crumbly and peaceful. 

And then, here’s the thing: the Isle of Man does wonders in _calling_ the plain truth out of you; rarely if you’re ready, more often when you are out, shivering in the cold. 

Phil first gets a taste of this within his first six lone visits to Man, it’s August 2009. His grandparents live southwest of the island, a small hut of a house near the city of Douglas. The moment Phil steps on their property, he understands truly how suited his Gramps and Nan are to country life. With its herd of sheep and benches by the seaside (the sight of which ethereal from their kitchen window). He’s just graduated from university; they ask him to move to the island.

“It’s wonderful here, Philly!” Grandma coos at him, pointing out hawks perched on the electric cables running dangerously close to their front garden. “We’ve finally got the telly set in the right _Internet frequency_ or something. Imagine this: some of that _Jeremy_ _Kyle_ drama in the wee hours of the morning with distinct smell of the sea filtering in. Fantastic, son!”

Though terribly at home in this kind of solitary lifestyle, they must miss the rest of the family, Phil can tell. Two hours away by plane, barely ten-minute calls from Phil himself before he rushes off to that _YouTube_ thing. 

There’s guilt flooding through Phil’s veins.

Sad, vulnerable; they next ask about his plans. Ask to see those videos he posts on that big platform, and if he should be overextending himself _this_ much to a barely _done_ deal of a website. They mean well, Phil knows, so he still shows them what he’s been up to. His channel with a hundred thousand subscribers (“the size of the _entire_ island population,” Phil hastily tacks on) and his grandparents watch in awe as he shows them what he makes for the Internet.

The rambling videos and interactive adventures and, hey, _this boy commented with hearts?_

Phil blushes then, closing the tab and announces they will have tea now, please. The matter isn’t resolved until after they’ve had their dinner and his grandparents bring him to this secluded part of the beach.

It’s there, they ask, “Who is this boy with hearts, then?” The sounds of the sea, crashing and retreating against the bank, surround him and there’s this sort of waiting silence. Like everything hinges on his answer; his present, _future_. They look at him, interested. 

He says, quite honestly, “I think he’s my _boyfriend_ , or could be.” Quick, painless. Like the water near where he stands, though only one of them unsure about their place. If his grandparents would _accept_ him, what he can’t change; the idea that he’s in love with this boy from the Internet that he’s _never_ met. He’s honest; open; and _god,_ if they disown him, would he have a place to _stay_? 

Instead, they are quick to assure him he never had to worry in the first place. That they knew pretty much all along and they’d quite like to meet this fellow when he comes down next. Phil could show him this part of the beach, too. 

Honest. Open.

-

The next time Phil comes down to Man, it’s to more success on YouTube, a clingy, _definite_ boyfriend back home in Manchester. Grandpa and Nan welcome him with twice as long hugs because the last time he was here, it was before the _Americans_ invaded, or so his dramatic Nan chides him.  

“Where’s the boyfriend, then?” they ask impatiently, watching outside for a figure to suddenly materialise. Phil _hasn’t_ been talking about Dan much recently and he wonders if they’ve started watching his videos as a way into his world instead. 

There’s a soft, sure doubt wiggling its way through his head at the mention of Dan’s absence. He _knows_ he’s wary about meeting the family just yet, despite Phil’s wondrous words about his family, that _honestly, Dan, they know more about you than you think._ Which hadn’t helped to quell his fears then because what’s more terrifying than meeting people who have heard all sorts about you beforehand? What their preconceived notions are about your _immaturity_ , if you’re up to their son’s claim. 

It’d been a series of low-blow snipes that ended with, “You’re going up North(er) with _out_ me.” 

Which had washed afront new worry on Phil’s part. _Sugarcoat_ it all until it’s a nice cake with a collapsing base. Tell the truth? What would they think of Dan _then_?

His grandparents sit idly; know in it’s full meaning, the Isle is meant for self-reflection if anything else. That they’d get an answer at some point because the air surrounding them is as much a truth serum as it is a problem solver. After all, wasn’t that the reason Phil called them up a week ago and abruptly asked if he could stay over for a little bit?

Later, Phil would tell them, “Relationships are _hard_ , aren’t they?”

They’re somewhere near the nature trail near the edge of the island. Up ahead is a small stargazing field atop a hill. Grandpa tells him, “Run along, nice weather tonight.”

It’s cryptic, not helpful in the least. But, deep down, they know: The island is a problem solver, always has been. That the _stars,_ Ursa Major: the great bear, will guide him home.

Phil rings a few months later; something about him and Dan moving into a flat in London. 

They smile.

-

It takes a full five years and a half for a strange but all too _familiar_ character named Dan to step foot on the island, the one five hundred kilometres across. Dan’s always liked space, chosen to live in big cities, dated a man with heart as wide as the Sun itself. So, Phil’s nervous Dan won’t like where fragments of him lie; the isolated cave at the edge of the ocean, the empty stargazing field beyond that. 

“Oh _wow_ ,” is the first thing Dan says, out of the taxi swiftly and gawping at the tiny house at the end of the road. Phil remembers the exact expression that first time he was here. The true juxtaposition between city and cramped-down country; beauty in its simplistic nature.

Grandpa and Nan are at the end of the garden, tending to some rosettas. They turn simultaneously at the sound of the taxi door slamming shut; hard in the quiet. 

“Phil, you didn’t tell me you were bringing a _visitor_ ,” Grandma says with a sincere grin, glint in her eyes when she bears witness to the dimple in Dan’s cheek. Pops asks him about gardening, if Dan likes it, and Dan laughs when he recounts the easy neglect of cactus Poe in the week of the trip.

That Phil _definitely_ did not inherit their green fingers.

Sheer knowledge of Phil’s most intimate behaviours (quirks, if he’s being honest) is enough to please the both of them; seeming absolutely taken in the wisp in Dan’s voice and the fact he wouldn’t turn down a grandma Classic _good_ English brew, thank you, _Mrs_ - _Mrs_ _Lester_. Martha, please.

They leave Phil with lugging the luggage to their room, nice. 

They stay for precisely three days, thirty-six minutes; alcove dates and ice-cream with wind through fringes; and Dan turns down his grandparent’s offers to stay longer, twice.

By the end of it all, he shakes Grandpa’s hand firmly and lets Nan kiss him a few times on the cheek; checking if they’d come back more often instead. _Dan_ and Phil together; not that they don’t _love_ their biological grandson immensely, of course.

“No doubt about it,” Dan says; sure, _definite_. “Family, after all.” 

-

Their visits to the Isle are few but not far in between. Every six months or so, two gangly men boarding a small plane to an Island north of the sea. Each trip as if a quiet confirmation of the sustenance of their love- probably, if they thought too hard about it. 

Instead of thinking, they do a lot of laughing and exploring and taking pleasure in the easy banter of residents. The ones who think they’re exactly _that_ : two gangly men attached at the hip. Some fans spot them, most of them don’t, and they like it that way. The isle is no place for screaming, hormonal teenagers, Phil thinks. At least, not till they’re much older and much in love.

When not touring, this is their little respite. 

They come down soon for Phil’s 30th birthday celebration because this is where he _learned_ the most, almost lost it all; it’s fitting they come here together, then. The rest of the family join them: Martyn and Cornelia, Mum and Dad from their house North East of the atoll. 

The elders show embarrassing pictures of Phil in his diapers, boast the bigger television and screen as big as Jeremy Kyle’s ego (though, not quite), and it’s all the same. Which is reassuring as Phil takes the plunge into a new decade of life. But, that doesn’t make him too old for a ball-pit birthday cake, no, Mum.

Their walks on the seaside partnered now by his brother and girlfriend, not that he minds for they should experience the beauty that is the waves and the salty air. “It’s _magical,”_ he makes sure to say. 

He leaves them be as him and Dan trek up hills and traverse paths they’ve followed a handful of times before. Before the tours, and the awards and the whole _turning_ _30_ part. This feels different, somehow.

The weight in his pocket, maybe.

Still, they walk and talk till the moon meets it’s match and suddenly, Phil’s down on one knee and the stars above seem almost insignificant to the look on Dan’s face. Ursa Major lights the way, through and through, and from the hill, Phil realises he can spot the small cave in the distance. 

The setting is _perfect;_ it’s _Dan,_ how could it not be, truthfully. 

-

They get back, Phil goes straight to his grandparents and give them massive hugs. Ones due a long time ago but blissful nonetheless. They smile knowingly, shush him thoroughly because _the weather’s on now, and we’re all going out tomorrow, so, please sit and not talk a minute._

Phil does his part because in it, he realises, they _knew_ from the very beginning, and now Phil knows it too:

Things always work out in Man, if you be quiet and hear its call. 

**Author's Note:**

> im phanetixs on tumblr and twitter, if you wanna hmu! 
> 
> tell me what you think! & have a nice day!


End file.
